


For so many years have gone (though I’m older but a year)

by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fae & Fairies, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Secret Relationship, Timey-Wimey, tags will make sense eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-11-13 14:40:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18033617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutchmoxie/pseuds/dearericbittle
Summary: Stiles and Derek know what they did last summer. All 39 years of it. But none of it ever happened.“How dare you say that to your husband?”“What?”“Fangs and flower crowns, asshole.”





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I’m playing fast and loose with canon and all mythology you’ll find within. 
> 
> PEACHES AND PLUMS, MOTHERFUCKER!

He never wanted it to come to this. 

Stiles did not deserve this. He’d given everything for Beacon Hills, many times over, and now they would kill him for it. 

But no matter how many times he’d stared at the chessboard, wondering why the hell Stiles had made him the King, no perfect solution had appeared. There had been no hints that there was still a Stiles left, that he was any more than a harmless meatsuit that this dark kitsune was walking around in. 

There was no Stiles left. They’d already lost him. They’d already left him behind. 

That was probably the harshest pill to swallow - Stiles had come back for him, over and over and over, and when it had been Derek’s turn to save him… he’d failed. He’d failed Stiles like he’d failed his family (and especially Laura), like he’d failed Boyd and Erica and Cora. 

Perhaps this was a sign that he was supposed to leave Beacon Hills for good. There was nothing left for him there. He could find Cora, wherever she was that week, and just leave the site of all of his worst memories. 

He wasn’t the Alpha anymore. It was no longer his responsibility. 

Stiles would have verbally torn him to shreds over this, but that was not going to be a problem anymore. It couldn’t be. All they had left of him were memories, and an unspoken promise to take down the thing that destroyed him. 

Anger still made a decent substitute anchor. As did vengeance. 

“We can’t hesitate,” Chris Argent warned them yet again. “If we hesitate, we are all dead.” 

Derek was not going to hesitate. Not like Kira might, or Scott. Mostly Scott. 

Because someone had to make the rough calls now that Stiles wasn’t here to do it - Scott was too caught up in his True Alpha thing to be ruthless. 

Perhaps they needed Peter for this - he wouldn’t hesitate. If they could actually trust him. 

“It’s coming,” Scott warned, quietly. 

It was barely loud enough for the humans to hear, but Derek and Isaac heard him easily enough. Hopefully that monster wouldn’t overhear all of them so easily. 

The plan relied on it, too heavily. 

With a final glance at Kira, who was hiding the sword a little too obviously for his tastes, he took a deep breath and steeled himself. Claws hidden, human face, wolf roaring from within at the presence of what was supposed to be his anchor. 

The door slammed open - always with the dramatics. 

Stiles - or the dark being riding his coattails - was a lot more pale than he usually was. Which was really saying something, since Stiles didn’t exactly spend a lot of time in the sun. Moonlight was a different story though. 

It was the darkness under his eyes that looked worse, like he hadn’t been sleeping. Derek knew what that looked like on Stiles when he was himself. This was not it. 

Something shifted in its movements, a blinking of its dark eyes. A trick, to make them think of Stiles’ lanky gracelessness, his flailing and his bright eyes. Truly, all there was to him was the void. 

That thing was always going to play tricks on them, wanting them to see the whiskey-colored eyes that were either annoyingly unfocused or annoyingly perceptive. 

Stiles was annoying. There was no one who would disagree with that. 

As if the thing could actually hear him think that, it slowly turned to look at him, eyes bright and almost innocent - and happy, even. As if Derek was the person it most wanted to see. 

Which was never a good sign. 

The dark kitsune bounced on the soles of its feet, seemingly pleased with their grim faces and how Derek barely seemed to be able to hold himself back from tearing him apart. Stiles would have said something stupid about his murder brows. 

But this was not Stiles. This was a pale imitation, a cheap copy that didn’t even possess a shred of decency. A trickster that enjoyed making them all hurt. Right now, pretending to be Stiles was its best trick.

And then it spoke. “Hey big guy.”

It almost sounded like Stiles too - the way he sounded after he’d been yelling for a while and his voice was getting a bit hoarse. Derek knew the sound of Stiles’ screams (pain, victory, frustration) all too well. And it was almost the same. 

Wait, was he actually supposed to respond to that? To this thing? 

Maybe it would be a good distraction. If they could even trick a being like this. 

“Hello, Not Stiles,” he knew his eyebrows made his feelings very clear. 

Stiles had made fun of those eyebrows over and over again, mostly back in… The summer they didn’t speak of. He joked about how eyebrows were worth more than a thousand words, and how Derek suffered from the serious affliction that was known as resting bitchface. 

He’d actually laughed at the jokes at some point, and let Stiles see it too. 

This shell of a person would never know. 

“I am Stiles, though,” it actually tried to argue. “The real deal. Tada!” 

And there were the jazz hands. Because of course there were jazz hands. This was Stiles after all. 

Only it wasn’t. 

“Nice trick,” Derek kept the conversation going to give Kira all the time she needed. “You’re not fooling anyone.” 

If he looked at anyone else, the creature’s attention might be drawn away from him. That would leave Kira very exposed - they just needed a bit more time. 

The upside of this thing wanting to convince them it was actually Stiles was that this meant it would have to talk a whole lot before they could actually get down to business. Which would hopefully give them all the time they needed. 

Derek was not happy to be the distraction this thing chose, but he’d deal with it. 

“Come on, Der-Bear,” it grinned and Derek cringed at the nickname Stiles knew not to use, “you gotta believe me. It’s me. I’m still in here. This is real, this is me, and all that Jonas Brothers Disney Channel movie stuff.”

He really fucking hated that nickname, and Stiles knew it. He knew Derek had legitimate reasons to never want to hear it again, from anyone. Which was why the thing said it, of course. 

It was born to thrive on their misery. And Derek had more than a fair share of that.  

“Bullshit.” 

Because while Stiles knew most of the Jonas Brothers lyrics, something he’d found out the hard way one of the many times that Stiles had gotten bored, this was not a strong plea. If he wanted to be believed, he would have addressed Scott. Derek was not important to Stiles, and even as a ploy to pit Derek and Scott against each other, it was lacking. 

Of course that is when it drops the bomb. “How dare you say that to your husband?”

That was supposed to be a secret. They were supposed to take that to the grave. Because it never actually happened. 

“What?”

Did it know? Did it get it out of Stiles somehow? 

That should not have been possible. But they dealt in the impossible all the time. 

The pack was probably staring at him, confused. Waiting for him to have the answers, to dismiss this stupid joke straight out. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even speak. 

Because he knew what they did last summer. All thirty-nine years of it he spent with Stiles. That he remembered, because he never clawed himself like he was supposed to. Like they agreed he would. 

Which apparently Stiles had been counting on. 

“Fangs and flower crowns, asshole. Thirty-nine years and I can still surprise you.”

No. What? No. 

He felt his own face make an expression that he hadn’t made since that summer. 

Fuck, he couldn’t be this vulnerable in front of all of them, but especially not in front of the monster that was still keeping Stiles hostage. 

Maybe it was okay in front of Stiles, though. 

Of course that meant that he wasn’t going to get any more time with Stiles. The eyes turned dark again, the posture became less jittery, and he knew Stiles was gone. 

Seconds later, just as Kira attempted to strike with the fox fire sword, the dark kitsune disappeared into thin air. 

He would have jumped in front of the sword if it hadn’t. Because it was Stiles. 

Everyone just stood there, paralysed, gawking at Derek like he somehow had all of the answers. 

And maybe he had some of them. 

“Stiles is still in there,” his voice almost didn’t feel like his own. “Don’t kill him.” 

Chris Argent still would have done it, if the creature had been there. He could tell from the look on the man’s face. But Kira was the one holding the sword still, and she looked hesitant now, which was all the better for Stiles. 

He was only making things more complicated, but they couldn’t kill Stiles if he was still in there. Not if there was still a chance. 

“Did he actually say husband?” Scott was focused on the real important things, as usual. “When did that happen?”

When Scott was busy doing summer school. And several years in the future. 

Both. Both of those times. 


	2. Finding Faelory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles can still recall how that summer started. Still thinking they'd find Boyd and Erica and solve shit before the Alpha Pack came for them.   
> That was not quite how it turned out.

LAST SUMMER

So, healing from a beating was a total bitch, even when the beatee was a strapping young man like himself and the beater was a geriatric asshole. 

It was one of the few regrets he had at not being a werewolf. He’d love to heal from all the bullshit as rapidly as Derek did. He was sure he wouldn’t get all borderline suicidal about it like Derek - oh fuck, who was he kidding? He was always going to attempt to save his friends, in whatever way possible. 

It was just that his way was usually by hurting or out-maneuvering the bad guy. His morals were a little… blurry when it came to keeping his pack safe. And he liked it that way, even though Scott always looked at him like he’d kicked a literal puppy. 

(Scott was basically a puppy himself)

When really, Scott had no fucking right to talk at the moment. Derek still wasn’t speaking to him after the forced biting deal. 

Stiles wasn’t speaking to Scott either, but that was more of a Scott being grounded yet again deal (and the no Stiles thing was always a big part of that punishment). Apparently Scott was taking advantage of the extra time to improve himself. Alison wasn’t around to distract him, so he was actually going to summer school and reading all the books he was supposed to - which was fucking shocking to Stiles. 

This was Scott! Scott McCall! 

Melissa must have really gotten fed up with the wolf stuff getting in the way of Scott’s education. And for once, it wasn’t all related to Allison. Which was shocking in itself, because this was Scott and everything came back to Allison for him. . 

Not that Stiles had forgiven Allison yet. He held grudges, against the entire Argent family at this point. Because he was petty like that. 

Which was probably why he was pretty much the only person still talking to Derek on a regular basis (even though he was totally going to let his entire stupid pack kill Lydia when he thought she was the kanima). Because Stiles was a petty asshole who was mad at Scott (most recent betrayal always won!) and still didn’t really have any other friends - none that weren’t Scott’s friends first. And with Derek, they could be a little anti-Argent club. 

He never thought Chris Argent would be the most upstanding member of that family. 

“Stiles!” 

Clearly his head had taken him on a metaphorical journey while Derek had been talking to him, dragging him along on a very physical journey through the woods. 

And he was not going to hum songs from Into the woods just to see if Derek would get the reference. Nope, he wasn’t, because this was serious business, and ugh, brain. 

“Derek!” He tried to copy the tone of voice exactly. 

What? It was so easy! Sure, he couldn’t do the murder brows and he wasn’t nearly as intimidating as Derek was, but imitating him sure was fun. 

Case in point, because the Eyebrows of Doom (patent pending) were currently giving him serious “damn it Stiles, you know I can’t handle your sass” vibes. Those were the best vibes, if you asked him. No more “I’m going to rip your throat out with my teeth” vibes, because Derek needed him and his particular brand of awesome. 

Someone had to help him find the rest of his pack, and clearly Isaac didn’t count. 

“Were you worried about me for a second there, big guy?” Stiles was going to milk this moment for all it was worth. “I know it’s new and different and scary when I’m not talking, but surprisingly enough I’ve actually learned a thing or two about stealth.”

Yeah, this was all about stealth, and not about his brain doing its usual thing only not out loud this time. This was all about Derek’s stupid werewolf lessons rubbing off on him - he wished he had the opportunity to roll with that innuendo right away, but he could stick a pin in it (hah!) and get back to it later. At home, alone, in his bedroom. 

“I’m so proud,” Derek’s sarcasm was on point. 

Stiles was delighted, because sarcastic Derek was one of his favorite Dereks. Maybe if he ever had a slow day he could make a list of his favorite and least favorite Dereks - he was already thinking of a format for that particular internal battle. A bracket system might be best. 

“My mission in life,” Stiles channeled his inner Kat Stratford. 

The cheery grin on his face probably disconcerted Derek, which was basically his true mission, if not in life than at least in this day. Because freaking Derek Hale the fuck out actually made him feel super powerful - and a fragile human boy running with werewolves did not get to feel powerful all that often. Not nearly enough, anyway. 

He was just about to throw out some more vintage teen movie jokes at Derek - because he wanted to see if Derek would get the references. How awesome would that be?!

And then Derek dragged him close in a single move, a strong hand pressed almost gently over his mouth. Clearly there were evildoers afoot that only werewolf senses could track and Stiles had best stay quiet and not do anything too… Stiles-y. But it was taking all of his focus not to lick and/or bite that hand. Because that was the kind of person he was. 

Why wasn’t Derek aware of that? Or was he just willing to risk it? Or did wolves not actually mind being licked? That made sense, if the licking was between pack members. Sure, that might be weird to humans, but wolves totally showed affection that way. 

He’d done his research. 

And he wasn’t going to lick Derek. Not even his hand, not even to be a shit. He did so enjoy being a shit to Derek. 

Stiles waited for Derek to at least take the hand away. He could deal with the werewolf almost cuddles, but he needed control of his face back. Those were his talking muscles - he needed those even when he wasn’t actually allowed to make a sound. 

It took for-fucking-ever, but Derek finally removed his hand, without Stiles having to bite or lick him. Apparently miracles could still happen in Beacon Hills. 

Now he just had to find a quiet way to communicate with Derek - and while quiet was not exactly his strong suit, he could totally handle this. He just had to take a step back from Derek’s very, very muscly body (not now, boner) and hope for the best. 

“Alpha Pack?” He mouthed the words at Derek, hoping the werewolf would understand. 

Maybe he should try sign language. Shit, did Derek know sign language? They should all know sign language for stealth reasons - morse code made noise and was way too time consuming. He needed to make that suggestion at the next pack meeting - if they were ever going to have those ever again. If he was even in the pack, because usually he was just the idiot that came with Scott - and Scott was barely in the pack. If there was still a pack now. 

Derek appeared to understand what he’d been trying to say, but he didn’t offer anything in response, just tilting his head. It seemed like a very wolfy thing to do.

Sometimes Stiles briefly forgot that Scott was a werewolf, because he’d do something so human, so like he was when they were both kids. He’d still reach for the inhaler he no longer had to carry, even though he didn’t even get winded anymore. Derek, though, was always a werewolf to him, because he simply didn’t know how not to be one. Even out in public, when he was trying to pass as human, there was always something… other-wordly about him. Something larger than life that would make any human’s lizard brain sit up and take notice. 

Wait, did Derek just mouth “fairies” at him? Was that an actual thing that just happened?

“What the actual fuck?” He was whisper-yelling at Derek now. 

Fairies probably didn’t have supernatural hearing, right? He knew a lot of tales about them, a lot of the information highly contradictory. Though the whole fairies as tricksters thing was mentioned across the board - he was totally not going to give a fae/fairy person his real name if he ever met one of them. 

Not that he ever gave anyone his real name. Not even Scott knew it. Maybe his future husband or wife would, but no one else. That monstrosity would only be revealed to a person after they’d already agreed to stick with him for life. 

“I can sense them,” Derek was talking in his normal growl now. “They can’t hear us, not from this distance. But we have to be careful.”

So, clearly the Fae had entered the woods somehow, and there was no way that they could enter through town - unless they were seriously awesome at magic and glamouring themselves into looking more human. His father would hear of it (hah!) if there were glittering magic beings coming through town. 

Did Fae people even glitter, though? Were the wings always out? Were they translucent or more solid? Were they mean or evil, or just impish tricksters? Did they wear tight pants and lead groups of goblins as they stole and bartered for human children? If only. Stiles loved 80’s movies. 

Yep, he was totally going to do a lot more research about this after he got home. Because if the Fae had come to Beacon Hills, it wouldn’t take long for them to come after the Pack. That always happened when any supernatural creature showed up in town. 

“There’s totally a door to a different world in the Preserve!” Stiles was no longer containing the excitement. “Fuck, that’s awesome.”

What? That was totally the only plausible conclusion, and just because Derek was all growl all of the time, didn’t mean that Stiles couldn’t still get excited about this shit. He was too young to be jaded about fucking fae creatures and different world and fucking magic. Magic was real and maybe his metaphorical Hogwarts letter was just late! 

That was a thing, right? 

Stiles turned to Derek, manic grin on his face. “Dude, we have to go look for it!” 

“No.” The eyebrows alone were worth a thousand words. 

“Don’t call you dude, I get it,” he rolled his eyes hard enough that he probably should have been worried about something detaching. “But, fae! Fairies! I don’t know the perfect nomenclature, but I totally want to find out. And I can. Because there is a magic portal to their realm right around the fucking corner!” 

Ugh, he really wanted to punch the world in the nuts right now for making Derek so gloomy that he couldn’t appreciate awesome shit when it happened. Sure, it totally made sense with all of the doom and gloom in his life, but it was less than optimal if he was going to be Stiles’ research and tracking buddy. Stiles needed someone with a little more… sparkle. 

And that? That was not Derek. No way. Derek had a strictly non-sparkle policy. 

“We need to find Erica and Boyd. No distractions.” Derek was growling again. 

“Well,” Stiles felt the beginnings of a plan coming together, “if we get on their good side, they’ll help us find your puppies. We just have to make the right deals.” 

Of course that just earned him one of the typical Derek Hale Glares (patent pending). Seriously, he knew Derek was sassier than that - he could be, anyway, if Stiles prodded enough. And while poking at a traumatized werewolf should have been the worst thing to do, he wasn’t going to treat Derek differently than he did anyone else. 

But he never mentioned Kate. He wasn’t that much of an idiot - just because no one else seemed to have figured out that clusterfuck, didn’t mean that Stiles was ever going to tell anyone. Not even Derek knew that he knew. 

He huffed dramatically, trying to joke with Derek. “Fine, I won’t call your children puppies. They aren’t animals. Because they’re people. Wolf people. Friends. Pack friends that the fae will totally help us find if we ask them nicely.” 

Sometimes he said words just to see if he could get away with them. And no matter that Derek had threatened to rip his throat out (with his teeth) more than once, he’d never acted on it. Yeah, he hit the steering wheel that one time, and that was super not okay, but if Derek were actually a sociopath like his uncle, Stiles would have been dead ages ago. 

“They won’t,” Derek disagreed with him, as usual. “You can’t trust the fae.” 

It wasn’t even about trust though. Not this time. 

The fae weren’t reluctant allies, like a certain person who was currently keeping Stiles from walking into a tree. They were resources. They could use more resources - they weren’t going to find Boyd and Erica like this. 

He was starting to get worried that they would never find Boyd and Erica. Not alive, anyway. And that sucked. They were kids - they weren’t really his friends, but they were sort of family in that not quite pack way. 

They didn’t deserve any of this bullshit. Being turned into a werewolf was supposed to help Erica not die young. 

“You just have to be more clever than they are,” Stiles argued. “If a fifteen year old girl with a theater obsession can beat a goblin king, I can totally do it.” 

Jokes always covered up his true feelings - because wolves couldn’t actually smell feelings, right? They just smelled physiological responses, like sweat or whatever. Smelling feelings was too close to Twilight pack telepathy in his not so humble opinion. 

Don’t even get him started on imprinting on a fucking baby. He made fun of that endlessly after first figuring out that Scott was a werewolf, and Scott believed it was a real thing for about half a second. 

His best friend was a dolt, but usually Stiles still loved him. Even when Scott had pissed him the fuck off and abandoned him for Allison and/or Isaac. 

“Our friends are not babies you wished away.” 

“You are a constant surprise,” Stiles knew that there was a stupid grin on his face, but he didn’t care. “But then again, you were probably alive in the eighties.” 

Derek Hale had actually seen a puppet movie from the eighties - a really fucking awesome puppet movie from the eighties. Maybe he had somewhat of a normal childhood after all, once upon a time, before…. everything. 

Though, reminding Derek that he was old and everyone he associated with was underage? That was probably a terrible thing to do - but his mouth didn’t exactly have a good relationship with his brain. He’d never managed to make the two of them cooperate. 

“Barely.” 

Right, Derek wasn’t that old, and Stiles really had to stop being a dick about it. And stop wondering if Derek had stared at shapes in David Bowie’s tight pants as much as he had - because there were certain things werewolves could smell. 

“Right, anyway,” Stiles plowed through with all the subtlety of a bulldozer. “Fae. Let’s find some.” 

And Derek followed him, for once. It was a powerful feeling, that lasted much longer than their search. Whenever Derek seemed to get a scent on the fae, it disappeared right after they started following it. 

At least Derek got him home before his dad found an empty bedroom.

* * *

 

They tried again the next time Stiles’ Dad had a double shift. 

Which was only a few days later - soon he’d have to wear a nametag for his father to even recognize him anymore. 

He wasn’t lonely. He was just… alone. 

That wouldn’t hold up for a werewolf lie detector like Derek, though. Which was why Stiles was currently talking about any and everything else. 

“I mean, Wolverine is super awesome,” he didn’t even know if Derek was still listening, “but none of the movies have ever done him justice. I mean, it wasn’t Deadpool levels of awful, because that was the most criminal misuse of Ryan Reynolds and his everything since Green Lantern. And we don’t talk about that movie, because that did not happen. That was a collective fever dream slash nightmare that never should have happened.”

Derek just blinked at him briefly before dragging him away seconds before he crashed into a random bush that he could have sworn hadn’t been there just seconds before. Not that he’d been paying a lot of attention to his environment. He’d been in a zone.

Well, no reason not to keep going. “Your claws aren’t adamantium, which is probably for the better because that shit is heavy and painful, even for a badass werewolf.” 

He was just about ready to start the comparison to the other pack members and their superhero doubles, starting with Erica’s Catwoman, when… 

“Fuck,” he heard a deep voice, tight with pain. 

Turning to Derek, trying to figure out if he heard it too, he found Derek’s hand reaching for him, dragging him along the nonexistent path. 

“That was Boyd,” he tried not to trip too much, not wanting his arm to get pushed out of its socket by Derek’s wolfy strength. “We found them. We did it.” 

For a second, it almost seemed like the corners of Derek’s mouth were up from their usual frowny position, but then he turned back in the direction of the sound and Stiles couldn’t tell anymore. Which sucked, because as usual there was no time for Derek Hale to have nice things - and he deserved nice things. 

Even now he was probably worried something was going to rip Boyd away from them before they reached him. 

“Can you hear Erica?” Stiles just had to know. 

Because that was his Catwoman, after all. He appreciated Boyd, his quiet strength and subtle humor, but it was Erica who could still reach into his chest and yank out the tattered remnants of his heart. He still felt guilty that he’d never given her a second glance before – too caught up in the (im)possibility of Lydia – and at how awkward he’d been after. 

No one had appreciated Erica before. No wonder she’d turned on all the idiot boys and their hormones after they’d finally noticed her. He probably deserved to be one of them, but maybe he could redeem himself by rescuing her. 

“Quiet!” 

Derek seemed to think that he talked too much, as usual. And for once, he was willing to keep his mouth shut, if that helped them find Erica and Boyd. 

It had been weeks already – weeks of the mystical Alpha Pack keeping them from their families, their pack. The only reason that Stiles even knew that they were still alive was because Derek had assured him that he could still feel the fraying tethers of their pack bonds. 

“Dude, I’d like to keep both arms!” He tried to yank his arm out of the werewolf’s strong grip, but instead found himself dragged along even more harshly. 

Why didn’t Derek just abandon him? Stiles knew he wasn’t nearly as valuable or important as the betas. He knew that he was just a pathetic human who hadn’t earned anyone’s protection, least of all the Alpha’s. Stiles was completely disposable. 

Derek needed three betas for his pack. Stiles was never going to be one of them. 

“Shut up, Stiles.” Another growl. “I have their scent. Both of them.” 

Right. He didn’t want to distract the Alpha from that. Shit, they were actually going to do this – for once, luck was on their side! 

Which was of course why everything went to shit in the very next moment. 

Between one step and the next, it seemed as if gravity lost its hold on him ever so briefly. It was not like tripping, more like floating and staring into blinding lights before blinking into the bright sunlight that he could have sworn hadn’t been there seconds ago. 

Derek stopped in his tracks, still clinging to Stiles’ hand for no apparent reason. 

“What the fuck?”

That wasn’t even Stiles, that was all Derek. Which might have been even more surprising than it was that the sun appeared to be shining even though night had long since fallen in Beacon Hills. 

How long had they been out? Had they been knocked out by something? 

He didn’t even recall closing eyes for any longer than it took to blink, and if something had taken them both down, he would have felt it. And Derek would have noticed an attacker knocking out Stiles, since they were touching at the time. 

So it wasn’t a hallucination? Something actually happened, something that sounded and felt a lot like the ridiculous portal to the fae world theory he’d spouted to Derek a few days ago. 

Well, if werewolves were legit, why not this? Why not this world that seemed made of forest and lush greens and light? Why not these tall trees that swayed in the soft breeze, and the many bunnies quickly hopping away at the sight of Derek? 

Yes, he chose to believe that was all Derek’s fault. 

“Magic is totally real, big guy,” he grinned at Derek, knowing that would make him want to rip his throat out even more. “I was right. We can totally make this work.” 

Derek was undoubtedly going to go straight for the ‘everyone we know is going to die’ option, instead of the ‘magic!!!’ one. Which was typical Derek, really, but it didn’t mean that Stiles wasn’t going to metaphorically drag him on the right path, kicking and screaming. Or growling - mostly growling and frowning, really. 

What else could he expect from someone who functioned off anger? 

Another growl. “Stiles!” 

But then again, what other thing had been more consistent in Derek Hale’s life than grief and anger? Yeah, not a lot of options for an anchor. 

Ugh, was this what empathy felt like? Straight up being annoyed by Derek and mocking him and getting him arrested had been cruel, but so much easier. It had been easier when Derek was the resident creeper slash potential villain. 

“Yeah, big guy?” He played the innocent, like a dick. 

“Keep quiet and they won’t kill you,” Derek warned. “Which means you’re basically already dead.” 

Ah, the sass. He’d missed the sass. 

Wait, who were they? 

Fuck, there were people approaching. Could he refer to fairies slash fae as people? Was that a thing or was that sort of racist? Or whatever that was called with magical creatures… 

He was ready to ask Derek about it, when...

“I’m serious,” Derek almost put a hand over his mouth again. 

This time Stiles was absolutely going to lick and/or bite him. Because he deserved it, thinking that Stiles’ rambling was going to get them both in trouble, when in fact it was going to be the thing that saved them. Derek was way too straightforward to run with the tricksters - he’d play by the rules and never push for the best bargain. Not the way Stiles would. 

Derek was saved from Stiles’ tongue and teeth by the arrival of the first fairy - fae? She was not much taller than Lydia, her slightly pointed ears on display with her pale blonde hair tucked back behind them. Her skin was glowing, almost silver, and none of her features were quite human, like there was a cast of something other over a human shape. 

She was gorgeous and terrifying at the same time. Usually, that was just his type. But usually he wasn’t distracted by the others, currently standing at a supposedly safe distance. 

“Hello visitors,” the voice made all of the hairs on the back of his neck stand up for a second. 

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. Once again, this fae was human coated in a layer of otherworldly mystique that set off a lot of latent instincts. He could feel power in her voice, even though she was just one girl - to be fair, he’d long since learned not to underestimate girls. Lydia, Allison, even Erica. 

“Greetings,” Derek took the lead here, almost hiding Stiles behind his bulk. 

“You are blessed by the moon,” the girl was delighted, staring Derek down as if she’d never met a werewolf before. 

Which shouldn’t be weird to Stiles. It hadn’t been that long since he met his first werewolf. 

“And your companion is a human,” the fae’s nose wrinkled, as in disgust. 

Wow, rude. Yes, some humans were shits, but that was no reason to discount all of them. Shit, if the status of humans was that low in this world, he was in a lot of trouble. Maybe Derek actually had a point about him keeping his mouth shut. 

Fuck, what if humans weren’t allowed to talk? 

“I am called Tempest,” the fae nodded almost politely at them. “What are your names?” 

That was the first test. Names had power with the fae. If he were to give them his actual name, it would mean giving them all the power that was in his name - and a name that had been kept secret for so long held a lot of power. 

They were going to need all the advantages they could get. 

“People call me Stiles,” he was safe, because no one even remembered his first name. 

His mom was always the only one who had been able to pronounce it properly, even his dad had troubles with it – and he’d never been able to use it after she died. Mischief and Stiles were his only names, and other than his father, no one even remembered the former. It was easy not to give the fae the power to use his actual name. 

“And your companion?”

He grinned. “He goes by Miguel.” 

Judging by the severe set of his heavy brow, Derek was going to murder him for this after they got back. But really, he didn’t do so bad. At least he didn’t go so far as to make them cousins this time. He wasn’t even going to mention any kind of connection between the two of them – because there was no need to give this guy any kind of information that he had not asked for directly. 

Stiles wasn’t that stupid – his mom had read him all the right stories. 

No eating any of their peaches, no bites of any of their food and no sips of any of their drinks, no matter how appealing they were probably going to seem. They weren’t going to die if they didn’t eat the food – that was not how this worked. They probably wouldn’t even get hungry before they walked right back out with a cute story to tell his friends. Yes, his friends. He didn’t think Derek had anyone to tell when they went back home. 

Right through the portal that was…. No longer right behind them. No longer visible at all. 

Well, fuck. That was the first test failed. 

Great job Stiles, now they were stuck. 


	3. Once more, with fairies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles are stuck. And the fake relationship tag finally starts to make sense.

**_DAY 4_ **

Nothing good ever came of shackles. 

He wasn’t kink shaming anyone, he was sure that this kind of bondage made some people very happy, but in his personal experience, nothing good ever came of shackles. 

And time passed really slowly when one was being held captive by fae guards. Like, this was not the first time he’d basically been taken hostage, and there was surprisingly little actual beating and torture this time around, but things did get a little boring. 

They were obviously waiting for something or someone, but they did not tell the pathetic human what that something or someone was. Maybe they told Derek. 

Derek had some serious werewolf privilege right now. Sure, he was not allowed to go anywhere without supervision either, but he was not chained up in any way. Something about not damaging the valuable potential ally. 

Stiles was just trying not to develop a complex, here. And trying not to get too frustrated at being so obviously kept separate from his only ally (and almost friend?). His usual rambling was not appreciated by any of the several different Fae men and women he’d noticed guarding him - not that Derek had ever been pleased with Stiles’ inability to keep his mouth shut. 

But they were in a whole new world, had been for several days now, and Stiles was very aware of how worthless he was to these people, and how vulnerable of a position he was in. Heck, he’d already heard noises about conscripting him into service after the mystical She showed up. 

He had no idea who She was, but he was hoping She kept her distance, at least long enough for Derek to figure out the frantic gestures he was making, and the quiet whispers he attempted to communicate in, knowing that Derek had better hearing than any of those Fae. It was very one-sided, but so were most attempts at communicating with Derek. 

… their pack had to be looking for them right now. Stiles’ Dad had to be worried out of his damn mind by now, thinking he’d run away or done something stupid that had gotten him kidnapped (again) or tortured (again). 

Not that his dad knew any of that. He thought it was stupid high school bullying, the other team mad at their decisive victory. 

Fuck, Stiles had gotten too good at lying to him. And out here, there was no way to apologize, no way to know if anyone was looking for them - even if they didn’t know where to look. Because over in Beacon Hills, it probably looked like they’d vanished into thin air. Not even sharp werewolf noses could find them here. 

“Hey, slave,” his least favorite guard was on duty again. 

Stiles refused to respond to that - it was no name, it wasn’t his. And the guard, taller and ethereal and slightly fucking terrifying, was not amused. 

But neither was Derek. 

A growl sounded through the clearing - God, Stiles would kill for an actual bed and a shower right about now - and the guard stiffened. 

Because clearly Derek’s displeasure meant something to him. To all of his guards. 

“Excuse my companion,” Stiles was ready to shoot the shit. “Miguel is a little testy so close to the full moon. It is almost the full moon, right? We were less than a week away when we came here.” 

Stiles did not feel the pull of the moon like Derek had, but since they’d had no fucking opportunity to talk, there was no way to find out just how close that day was. The day in which Derek would tear them all apart, Fae magic or no magic. 

Really, Stiles was just keeping his fingers crossed that Derek’s wolfy side didn’t get him killed in the crossfire. It wasn’t like the scent of pack could still cling to him - just the scent of his own BO, because unlike Derek he wasn’t allowed the luxury of bathing. 

Fucking wolf privilege. 

“We have taken the necessary precautions, Sir Miguel,” his guard seemed apologetic, turning to Derek and completely ignoring Stiles. “You can commune with the moon goddess in peace.” 

Well that was freaky, and now he had to worry about those precautions as well as all the other seriously worrying shit that was already going on. 

The whole “Sir Miguel” thing used to make him laugh. Not so much anymore - he’d grown immune to its hilarity, which was fucking sad. Maybe once they got out and he told Scott about it, they’d have a good laugh about it together. 

He missed that idiot. 

“I will need my companion with me,” Derek used an imperious tone that was part Alpha bravado and part slimy grossness that he must have learned from his awful uncle. “And the dust you’ve taken from him. We need it for our moon ritual.” 

Clearly these Fae had never met an actual werewolf in their lives. They’d heard of them, and let Stiles and Derek fill in the gaps - which was awfully stupid of them, because Stiles was one hell of a liar and Derek was just desperate enough to leave to go along with it. 

How much leeway did Derek have? He probably couldn’t string them along too much - he was a curious stranger to them, a rare gift fallen into their laps that they were absolutely going to take advantage of in some way, but he was also still a stranger to them. And if they decided that werewolves were dangerous, they’d just as easily kill him outright and leave Stiles a lonely slave in a strange world. 

Stiles didn’t actually like Derek, but he didn’t want all of his hard work keeping that idiot Alpha alive to go to waste. Also, he didn’t actually hate Derek or want him to die. The pack would be even more tragic without him to train the puppies and keep them on somewhat of a leash. 

Derek was going to kill him for even thinking that, so he was glad werewolves didn’t have those stupid telepathy powers. Fuck Stephenie Meyer for even putting that idea in his head. 

“As you wish, Sir Miguel,” the guard was solemn. “Your companion can attend to you tonight. She will arrive the day after tomorrow. You can discuss any future rituals with Her.” 

Fucking terrifying. 

He didn’t even try to snicker at the Princess Bride reference he probably could have used to mock Derek a bit more. Which was just, such a waste. 

“Tonight,” he realized. 

The full moon was so close, and it was the only thing he could think of to use to help them both escape in one piece, even though they had no idea where the portal would be. If the portal even still existed. 

Maybe it had only been there once, like a ridiculous Brigadoon type thing that meant that Stiles was definitely going to die here, a slave - and their friends would be long gone by the time Derek dragged his wrinkled ass out of here. 

Wow, the full moon made him really fucking depressing, when he should really be thinking of a way out, or at least of a way that will get them out of the Fae’s reach. 

One of the many problems with that plan was that he didn’t actually know how long that reach was, and if they had to watch out for all Fae or if it was just this small group (and their leader, the mysterious She) that they had to watch out for. 

Couldn’t someone just give him a Fae World 101 already? 

By the time night started to fall and his guards had handed him the mountain ash and practically threw him into the cordoned off area that was designated as Derek’s, he almost had the slightest semblance of a plan. 

But he was slightly distracted when the first thing Derek did when they were reunited was take his shirt off. It wasn’t really that much of a surprise, because Derek’s shirts never seemed to last long when things were afoot and he might have to shift, but it was still extremely distracting to watch the muscles rippling. 

He was so distracted that he only realized Derek had other plans when the Alpha was pulling up Stiles’ shirt as well. 

“D-Dude!” He really had to try to keep his voice down. 

And not to use Derek’s name - because he just knew that was a terrible idea. They were already in a really shitty position, no need to make it worse. 

“Wear mine,” Derek was more growly because of the full moon. “You need to have my scent. It’s part of the ritual.” 

That last bit was followed by an eye roll so obvious that Stiles was almost worried that the Fae would actually spot the sass, even from the respectable distance they’d taken from the so-called ritual. Derek’s sense of humor, when it made a rare appearance, was super sarcastic and kind of dark. Which made it like, exactly the kind of thing Stiles appreciated. 

Stiles let Derek take off his shirt, because it would probably look weird if he pushed Derek away to do it himself. This was all part of the ritual they were inventing - which he had to keep repeating to himself because this was a really inconvenient time to get a boner just because Derek Hale was shirtless and undressing him slowly and almost reverently, warm hands gliding over his skin and… yep, that was definitely a boner happening. 

What? He was seventeen, a virgin, and an extremely attractive man was half-naked and trying to get him to strip as well. He was only fucking human. 

And he was never going to be able to look Derek in the eye again, which meant that he’d get over it in a week or so, once they were both back home again. They would both get some space and pretend any awkwardness and shirtlessness had never happened. 

Fuck, he was going to be wearing Derek’s clothes! That was usually like a wolfy declaration of intent - at least that was how Scott had made it sound when Allison wore something of his. Sure, these were some definite extenuating circumstances, but it was still fucking weird. 

Well, guess they’d need a “what happens in Fae land, stays in Fae land” kinda rule. He was all for that. 

His hands were clumsy as he tried to cover himself up. Derek’s shirt was still warm from his body heat and relatively clean. It was a bit loose in the shoulders, where Derek’s muscles had muscles, but it was comfortable and a whole lot better than the gross shirt he’d been wearing for almost five days straight now. 

Derek’s nostrils flared as he took it all in. Yeah, this had to be fucking with his instincts. 

“Next step of the ritual?” Stiles tried to get back on even footing. 

Maybe if Derek was too busy making up steps for a ritual that didn’t exist, and Stiles was far too busy silently plotting, they wouldn’t have to deal with any of the awkwardness that ensued after the impromptu striptease. It was the most unrealistic kind of wishful thinking, but damned if he wasn’t at least going to give it a shot. 

If realism was a thing for him, he wouldn’t be hanging out with werewolves, right? 

“My anchor,” Derek spoke softly. 

“It’s right within reach,” Stiles was the one rolling his eyes this time. 

Because if there was anything that Derek Hale had a fucking surplus of, it was anger. Was it a stable thing one could put the entire weight of their humanity on? Not so much. But what the fuck was stable in the life of Derek Hale? Nothing except how unfair things were, and how much they usually sucked for him. 

Not even his pack would make a good anchor. 

Ugh, but he really didn’t want to dwell on the sad and frustrating life of Derek Hale. Because his own was enough to deal with at this point - trapped in a strange world with one ally for company, only his ally had options and he didn’t. 

And there was always the risk that Derek would go a little too feral and tear him apart under the light of the full moon. Which… Great bonus. Always lovely. 

At this point he just felt like he was constantly in that waterfall scene in Emperor’s New Groove. Maybe he had to stop thinking ‘bring it on’ at every sign of danger. 

“Stiles!”

Derek’s eyes were electric blue, and Stiles tried not to take a step back as he saw the human hands drop his shirt before it was shredded in the rapidly appearing claws. Usually there were shackles in between him and a wolf in beta shift. 

Yeah, he had to revise his earlier thoughts. There were good things about shackles.

* * *

 

_**DAY 6** _

He’d been waiting awkwardly, impatiently ever since he saw the large group of Fae heading in the direction of their little camp. He’d been forced to turn around before they got too close, some ridiculous Fae ritual they didn’t explain to him, and now it was finally time. 

They were going to find out who She was. 

And it was probably all going to go to shit. 

“She has arrived,” the lady guard was there, the one who gave him a wet cloth yesterday to clean himself. “Sir Miguel, please do us the honor of meeting with our Lady Meadow. The Princess would love to meet someone moon-blessed.” 

A Princess? Of course there was a fucking princess, a lovely pale woman with auburn hair that hung down to her waist and a dainty crown braided into the long locks. Of course she was immaculately dressed, approaching the camp in robes that were almost glowing in the warm sunlight. And of course she was staring at Derek fucking Hale like he was dinner and she was starving. 

Well, maybe Derek could bang her into letting them both leave? That way she could go back to her people with a nice story about the moon-blessed man, and they could get the fuck out of here already. The Hellmouth needed its Alpha. 

Yeah, there was probably something less than great about him pimping Derek out yet again - Derek had been so damn pissed off about the Danny thing, but maybe that was just casual homophobia working its awful magic. Yeah, no, still not okay probably. 

But so damn convenient. Stiles would try to seduce the mysterious Fae princess himself if he was in any way attractive to her or if he had any game. Judging by the lack of progress on the Lydia front, he had little to none of the latter. 

Anyway, it looked like the princess was gearing up for a stupid speech, only addressed to Derek of course, so it was probably in his best interest to listen. While looking like he was just a stupid and harmless human, of course. It was always best to be underestimated by the enemy - he’d learned that lesson young, and he was not above that brand of manipulation now. 

“Sir Miguel,” okay, maybe it was a little funny this time, “your appearance in our lands is a timely blessing. Our chief Seer has foreseen the advisor of a powerful man, one who is destined to rule beside me.” 

Oh, fuck no! Prince Derek and Slave Stiles? No fucking way! 

There was a fucking limit, and he’d reached his a while ago - and he could joke about Derek banging a princess all he liked, because that was just the type of charm that Derek used only on someone he wanted to get away from. But there was no way that Prince Derek would ever be able to leave - and that meant Stiles wouldn’t either. 

Because he wasn’t just going to leave Derek here. He wasn’t going to leave the pack without its Alpha - Derek wouldn’t even want to leave his stupid pack. He’d probably go right back out there to look for Boyd and Erica the second they touched the ground in the Preserve. 

That was the kind of Hufflepuff loyal moron he was trapped here with. 

It was not an attractive quality, no sirree. 

“As my consort,” Stiles wanted to roll his eyes at the word, “you would get the respect you deserve from all of our people.” 

Consort. That was probably a shit ton of steps above slave, and one step below actually being able to do anything of importance. Derek was not going to get any opportunities to make decisions, because a consort would just be there to sit on a throne and look pretty and try not to growl at the plebs too much. That was the distinction, right?

It was a job that Derek was going to be terrible at - even worse than he’d been at being the Alpha at first. And that was saying something. 

“But, Stiles!” 

That was kind of… sweet? Because it meant that Derek was trying to get out of it, wasn’t he? 

“We can make arrangements for your companion,” the princess thought that she was so magnanimous, offering accommodations for the servant of her betrothed. “He can stay in your service. Our service. Your loyalty to your slave is admirable, albeit a bit foolish.” 

Seriously, were they just going to act like he was something of a childhood pet to Derek that he’d gotten unreasonably attached to? He was still a fucking person, even though he was just a human. 

And he’d heard that just a fragile human bullshit way too often in his normal life already. Which was why it sucked that it was once again the story of his fucking life, even in a whole new world. 

Oh fuck, now that Aladdin song was stuck in his head. Maybe flying carpets were real, or could be made real by magic. That would be awesome, even though Scott was totally going to use it to woo Allison (by recreating the entire scene, because that was his best friend). 

But shit, Stiles could do a lot of awesome shit with magic, and his Hogwarts letter probably just got lost… Fuck, not the time. 

He was about to be enslaved. His brain wasn’t great during Adderall withdrawal. Or without Adderall, period. 

“Stiles is no slave,” Derek’s eyes were bleeding red. “He is my…” 

Then, Derek paused, as if trying to find any kind of word that would capture what Stiles meant to him. Just one word that would encapsulate their journey from strangers who kind of hated each other to reluctant allies to almost confidantes to… partners in escape in Stiles and Derek’s big adventure? The word “friend” didn’t apply, didn’t cover it. It wasn’t right. 

Pack? Was he going to say pack? 

Derek was silent for too long, and the Fae were starting to get suspicious. 

But what was there to say? What was the right thing to say that would make them respect the relationship and leave Derek the fuck alone?

Wait… Relationship! 

“He is trying to say I’m his,” Stiles stubbornly set his jaw, trying to mask the obvious lie somehow. “I am his and he is mine.” 

And you can’t have him, he wanted to add, like a selfish child keeping a coveted possession from a rival. Even though Derek was a person, not a possession, someone who could deny this bullshit and get the fuck away from Stiles. 

Derek was going to rip Stiles’ throat out with his teeth when they got back. This was that final line he’d finally crossed. The one that would get him killed. 

“Yes,” Derek simply said, his eyebrows knit tight and face completely blank. 

That was definitely his “I can’t believe this bullshit” face. 

Of course Derek would deny the whole th - wait, what? 

“That is unheard of,” one of the guards simply could not wait for their turn to speak. 

The princess set a furious glare on them, one that completely terrified the guard even though Stiles had seen a lot worse from Derek on an off-day. Seriously, if glaring was a valuable skill, maybe Derek’s serious murder face could be their currency around here. 

“Release him,” Derek was using his Alpha slash creepy Peter voice again. 

Sure, with that voice he was going to pass as royalty just fine. Maybe in another life the Hales were actual werewolf royalty or whatever - Creepy Zombie Peter’s entitlement definitely qualified him for that role. 

Ugh, that man was never allowed to have any power ever again. 

“Of course, Sir Miguel,” the princess nodded and motioned to the guards. 

Yep, still a little bit funny after all. 

But at least it worked, because they actually removed the fucking shackles so that he could move like a normal person - including his customary flailing - and actually step foot inside Derek’s little corner of the clearing again. And this time he probably didn’t have to remove his shirt - unless these people were even more crazy about exhibitionism than he’d already noticed on the night of the full moon. 

Nope, he was not going to think about that too much. 

“Hey,” he almost whispered to Derek. 

Now he was just a boy, standing in front of a boy (man? wolf?) asking him to play along for a little while longer. It did not seem like they were buying it so far. 

Derek pulled him closer, playing the part surprisingly well. “Hey.” 

They were hugging. They were actually hugging, which was probably the best way to prove their supposed relationship without creating memories that they would not be able to undo. While Stiles was totally down to do a little kissing and groping for the cause, there was no way he was going to put that on Derek. 

Not with his romantic slash sexual history. 

“Quick thinking,” that almost sounded like a compliment, whispered in his ear. 

These Fae would believe those were sweet nothings he was hearing, right? Because while Derek didn’t usually look like the kind of guy who would whisper loving words in anyone’s ear (that was probably the fault of all that leather and those eyebrows), their safety kind of depended on them being believable as a couple. 

Scott could never know about this. 

“Master of stupid ideas,” he whispered back at Derek, hoping it would make him grin. 

That would help sell the con, because there was no way that anyone would believe that a guy like Derek was with someone like him if he didn’t make him smile. 

What did he even have to offer except his crude wit and his sparkling personality? Yeah, that was exactly what he thought. 

Hot breath at his ear. “It worked, for once.” 

His fake partner was an asshole. Which would make him perfect for Stiles - which was not a path he was going down. 

Derek smelled kind of nice. 

Okay, that meant it was past time to let go. Which he did, slowly, like he wanted to linger on Derek, be wrapped around him. It was surprisingly comfortable. He’d thought that Derek was going to be all muscles and hard edges, but the guy was cuddlier than he’d expected. 

“I need to meet with my advisors,” the princess interrupted their fake love bubble, because she was jealous. 

When really, the only thing she had to be jealous of was Stiles’ acting skills. And maybe Derek’s as well. Because she wasn’t seeing anything real, just a man who didn’t want to be forced to play her boytoy for the rest of his life. 

And that was not a fucking crime.

Even though Derek probably didn’t have a lot of good things to come home to, he still wanted to get back to Beacon Hills. Though Stiles couldn’t blame him if he did want to stay and live a charmed life and never have to fight anyone again, never have to witness another person he cared about hurt and/or in pain. 

Shit, maybe he’d gotten it all wrong after all. 

Stiles almost tripped over his own feet as Derek led him to what passed for a sleeping area in this very open clearing. It was the most privacy they’d be able to get here, especially if the lady in charge was going to be too busy to pay too much attention to them. 

Forcibly developing an exhibitionism kink sounded great. 

Ugh, he needed to not think about anything related to kinks when sitting on top of Derek’s sort of bed. Yeah, the awkwardness was already piled on too high. 

Being seventeen was the fucking worst. He had awkwardness coming out of his every pore. 

“Just sit down, Stiles,” Derek was laughing at him. 

Maybe to the untrained eye it would seem like Sir Miguel was just happy to have him in his bed, but Stiles knew when he was being laughed at - he had seventeen years of experience. And he knew what it looked like coming from Derek too. 

At least this was laughter and not anger. 

“Yes, dear,” he just had to mess with his fake beau again. 

He wiggled around on the blankets, getting his Stiles stank all over the damn things - Derek deserved as much. Forced to smell more of his sweat because oh yeah, they still hadn’t let him bathe. A quick wipe with a wet cloth did not a clean Stiles make. 

“They’re still staring,” Derek gracefully sat down next to him. 

“Good thing I’m such a great actor,” he grinned at Derek. “You’re lucky to have me.” 

And with those fighting words, he wiggled his way underneath the top layer of the blankets. Because he hadn’t been this comfy in almost a week now, and he fucking deserved it, no matter how much it made Derek look like he’d swallowed a lemon (or an entire lemon tree). 

Because Derek was petty as fuck, he accidentally - accidentally, his ass - laid himself down halfway on top of Stiles, pinning him to the spot. It might have looked cute, but it was really fucking uncomfortable because apparently Derek was made of bricks. How did he ever hold up this amount of dead weight for hours in a fucking pool?

At least this helped convince him of his own badassness. That was nice. 

So he closed his eyes to hide from the sun’s harsh glare, trusting Derek to notice any potential danger before he did. His legs were bound to be asleep anyway, by the time the princess finished her little discussion with her advisors. 

All males, too. Apparently sexism was alive and well in the Fae realm. 

Not the point. Holy shit, he really needed some fucking Adderall. 

By the time he opened his eyes again - it was very likely he’d fallen asleep for a little while there - the meeting was over and the sun was not so high in the sky. Derek was no longer mostly on top of him - thank fuck - instead sitting right next to him and making sure he was properly covered by the softest of the blankets. 

Stiles had made a mess of Derek’s nest, too. Because he couldn’t even sleep calmly. 

Scott always got so annoyed with him during their sleepovers. This was a different kind of bed sharing though. Sort of bed sharing. Kind of. Maybe. 

But it seemed like the meeting was over, as a delegation of Fae gathered near Derek’s little… habitat? Or was that rude. 

He had been feeling the weight of their stares for a while now, but he was not going to say anything until they actually interrupted the awkward fake couple time. 

“We will need proof,” the lead advisor, a dark-skinned man with long braids finally spoke. 

Well of course they did. This was going to get super fucking awkward. 

Everyone was going to be able to tell that he was totally faking it, because he’d never really kissed anyone before, and especially not a man. And sure, he knew that he wasn’t completely on the hetero side of the Kinsey scale, but this was A. Fucking. Lot. 

But he was going to have to. He was going to have to kiss Derek Hale to save both their lives. 

That was a sentence he never thought he’d think. 

Derek was meeting him halfway though, helping Stiles sit up comfortably and almost succeeding at pulling him into his lap when they were interrupted. 

“That was not the kind of proof the Royal Advisor was referring to.” 

Clearly the Princess was not amused, judging by her snooty tone. 

And clearly Stiles was not disappointed. 


End file.
